


All Knotted Up

by joonfired



Series: it's smut o'clock in Mandorin land, boys [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Corin is a dom Omega, Din is a sub Alpha, Explicit Consent, First Time, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, The Helmet Stays On, Touch-Starved, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, consensual possessiveness, give my love and regret to LadyIrina folks, shut up and go with it okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonfired/pseuds/joonfired
Summary: Corin's irregular heat cycle kicks in for the first time around the Mandalorian
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: it's smut o'clock in Mandorin land, boys [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623514
Comments: 12
Kudos: 214





	All Knotted Up

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Family and Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758992) by [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina). 



> it's trippy the places my brain goes when I'm bored all right  
> first time writing ABO dynamics  
> I take canon??ABO and wreck it btw  
> just doing my own thang

At first, Corin thinks he’s just in a bad mood—specifically annoyance. Everything feels like an inconvenience and a headache sits on the edge of existence, even when the child toddles up to him wanting to be held. And when Din asks if something’s wrong, Corin replies with a snapped, “I’m _fine_.”

But later that same day, he starts wondering if it's something else, something he hasn’t dealt with in a long time. Those very suspicions are confirmed the next morning when he wakes up absolutely _starving_ . . . and able to pick out scents as if they are different colored threads.

Corin also aches, loose and wet.

He groans with both want and realization of his predicament, grinding feebly down against the mattress which is too flat and cannot fill him the way he wants, the way he _needs_. Kriff, it’s been so long since his last heat that it’s almost like his first.

Except this time there aren’t isn’t a squadron of normals around to get off a fuck or two with.

The rest of the day is an absolute disaster.

Corin bites his lip as waves of desire roll through him with every step he takes. He wants to grind himself against every seat he takes. And it doesn’t help matters that he’s half-hard all day. Din keeps looking at him, but thankfully doesn’t ask any questions. He seems to be having a bad day himself, which at least lets Corin easily avoid him.

Until that night, when Corin is heading for his bunk, the kid already tucked away in its wee storage bin bedroom.

Din finds him just as he’s about to settle in, maybe jack off a round or two to ease the tension that’s been begging to be released all damn day. Corin glares at him as the man blocks his way because he really, really needs his own time right now.

“What’s bothering you?” Din asks.

“Nothing!” Corin muttered, shifting a little with the uncomfort of a sticky ass he can’t wait to shove his fingers into. His hardness twitches at the thought of being filled. “I’m just . . . tired. Really tired.”

Din sighs, leaning towards him a little. No, wait—it’s not a sigh. He’s _sniffing_.

Since this is the first time Corin’s been close to the man all day, he hasn’t had the chance to really catch his scent. He inhales subtly . . .

And moans quietly as the heady musk of an alpha wafts into his nostrils, overwhelming his mind.

“I knew it,” Din murmurs, his fingers coming under Corin’s chin and tipping his head up.

He doesn’t want to let that touch affect him so much, but it does. Corin closes his eyes and swallows, already harder just by the smell of an alpha standing in front of him.

“I didn’t know you were an omega,” Din continues, just kriffing _standing_ there inspecting him. “There are so few of our kind left; who knew we’d end up together on the same ship.”

“If you’re an alpha, why didn’t you catch my scent earlier?” Corin gasps.

He knows it’s stupid, but if he’d known Din is an alpha—wait, what _would_ he do? Corner and beg him to fuck him good? Ask him to drop everything and knot him just because they are an alpha and omega in the same proximity and he’s in heat?

The universe was fairly simple about matters like this, but things are never simple with Din.

The Mandalorian laughs and then taps the side of his helmet. “This is why. Air filtration.”

“Oh.” It does make sense now that he thinks about it. “I guess that helps you, uh, control yourself?”

“Control?” Din tilts his head. “Yes, it helps. But . . .” He trails off, the pause turning long and becoming silence.

“What?”

“We’re not animals. Instincts don’t override our choices; they don’t control us.”

“Yeah but—” Corin frowns. He’s never thought about it like that.

The heats he remembers were troublesome and terrifying: quick fucks in dark storage closets or a few extra minutes on a patrol. They were something he didn’t want his superiors discovering because then they’d lock him up, test him, maybe even pair him with an alpha (if they found one) and use him to “further the army of the Empire.”

Omegas were always seen as something to be controlled and used. He’s never considered he might have a choice otherwise.

Even in his past heats, he really wasn’t the one who’d initiated contact. It had always been flirtations that quickly spiraled into nothing else but trousers dropped so a beta or normal could pant behind him, not really filling him the way his body wanted but enough to help.

But now his mind jumps forward into a future where Din is the one panting behind him—fingers dug tight into Corin’s hips, filling him in a way he’s always wanted but never had. Pelvis slapping against his ass, thrusting deeper, bigger, tighter . . .

He’s dripping now, open and _ready_.

“I want you,” Corin tells Din, his voice husky with need. He steps closer, Din’s fingers dropping from his chin to curl lightly against the vulnerable skin of his throat. “That’s my choice.”

Din is breathing hard; he sees it in the deep rise and fall of the man’s shoulders. But he doesn’t move, just standing there like a kriffing beskar statue.

“That’s your heat talking,” he says roughly.

“It’s not,” Corin whines, taking another step forward.

“This is why I avoid omegas in heat.” Din takes a step back. “It’s like you’re drunk, not thinking straight. I can’t believe everything you say . . . I’m sorry.”

Corin groans and twists away from him, slumping down onto his mattress. The press against the needy ache is nice, but it’s so small compared to what he could have that it just isn’t enough.

“Fine,” he huffs. His hand drifts down to rub lazily against the pulsing hardness in his pants. “Then just leave me alone tonight . . . or find a bath house or _someone_ willing to fuck me.”

“Do you . . . have to . . . do that now?”

Din may have his features covered by the helmet, but it’s obvious he’s staring at Corin. More specifically his _hand_ and what it’s touching.

“Yeah,” he says, slouching further and smirking at the Mandalorian. “Does it bother you?”

Din turns away and climbs up into the cockpit, muttering something about omegas and their shamelessness in heat. The hatch closes and there is the distinct sound of it locking, which tells Corin that he’s really being left alone to sate himself as best he can.

He undoes his trousers and takes himself out, already slick and heavy. His hand is a familiar touch, but it still feels _good_ after hours of nothing.

Corin closes his eyes and lazily strokes himself, forever on the edge of a finish but one he knows he won’t tip over unless he starts to use his other hand. And he isn’t ready for that yet. He wants to linger in a fantasy for a few minutes . . . 

In his mind, Din is kneeling in front of him, seemingly submissive but totally in control—just the way Corin likes. Its Din’s hand touching him, sliding just right up and down Corin’s length, the tips of his fingers stroking down now and then, teasing his wet entrance. He groans and Din squeezes a little harder.

“You like that?” the Mandalorian asks in a knowing tone.

“Yeah,” Corin gasps.

He breaks momentarily from the fantasy to shuffle his trousers down a little more, slip his other hand under and up. And then he closes his eyes and everything resumes.

Din takes his other hand and slides it under Corin’s balls, two fingers circling the sensitive rim of his aching entrance. This pulls another groan from Corin, who lifts his hips up, wiggling them around a little to try and get those fingers inside of him.

“So greedy,” Din chuckles, continuing those wonderful, maddening circles.

“Please,” he begs.

But the Mandalorian still takes his time, stroking and circling in alternating movements. Corin tries to control his breathing, but it’s coming ragged and heavy, getting even wetter. He’s probably made the bedsheets damp by now, but he doesn’t care.

And then those fingers enter, slowly, still circling . . . right as Din shifts the shallow steady strokes to long, deep ones that push down against the base of Corin. He whimpers and grinds down on the fingers inside of him, needing them to go deeper, wanting more of them.

Maybe he could fit his whole fis—no, maybe _Din_ could fit his whole arm inside of him. But that’s doubtful, since he’s really not that flexible . . .

“Focus,” Corin mutters to himself, pushing a thumb against the spot between his entrance and the base of him.

This isn’t going to be a knotting, but touching himself with this fantasy playing in his mind is so much better than simply jacking off a few times. Especially since he can still smell Din.

Corin wonders if Din can hear him, can smell his wetness, even with that stupid air filtration system.

“Stop thinking,” Fantasy-Din growls, pushing his fingers _deep_.

He doesn’t reply, just whines frantically and starts grinding faster, urging Din to go faster. He feels a finish approaching now and that distracts him from anything else but cumming. Two fingers switch to three, and then four . . . he tries for a whole hand, but instead the mass of knuckles grind against his rim like a too-big knot and that’s enough to tip him over the edge.

Corin moans as he comes, a little sputter over his hand and his slick hole fluttering against fingertips. It’s not a really satisfying sensation, but it’s better than nothing. And maybe if he keeps touching himself more, he’ll finish better in a few minutes?

He scoots over on the mattress, lying down prone on his back now. He’s a little limp, but not really.

The hatch unlocks with a sound that’s earth-shattering to his sensitive ears.

He should put himself away, or at least pull a blanket over his sprawled-open legs, but he doesn’t. And so when Din climbs down the ladder, he sees Corin splayed explicitly on his mattress, hands still around and inside himself.

And he can’t help but notice that Din is hard too, hard enough that the outline is pushing against his trousers in what has to be a painful sensation.

“Do you still want me?” he asks in a choked voice.

“Kriff yes,” Corin moans.

Din strides over, already undoing his belt. He pulls himself out as he kneels on the mattress between Corin’s legs, a knot already beginning to swell at the base of his impressive length.

“Wait, like this?” Corin asks as Din reaches for his hips, pulling him up onto his thighs.

He pushes his tip against Corin’s entrance, teasing the sensitive rim. “You’d prefer a different way?”

Corin doesn't know how to answer that and he really doesn’t want to move, though he’s always been fucked from behind in a quick, emotionless way. The last time it was on patrol and his patrol companion had shoved him against a tree, pulled his trousers down, and slammed into him with harsh grunts and clawing fingers that had left scars on his ass for weeks.

Because he doesn’t answer, Din keeps teasing him, dipping his broad tip in and out with sticky sounds from how kriffing wet Corin is.

“You feel so good,” Din says quietly, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say anything. He pushes in a little deeper, his hands flexing against Corin’s hips. “So good.”

Suddenly, Corin doesn’t care how they do this, only that it happens.

He grabs Din’s hips and pulls him against him. That length slips in deeper, stretching his entrance.

Corin shrieks a little with just how fucking _good_ this feels, an alpha’s size filling him up and hitting deep. He scrabbles for something to hold on to, clinging to the straps of Din’s armor. His feet hit the mattress, knees against Din’s waist, and he tugs the man closer, closer, closer.

“Kriff,” the Mandalorian pants, gripping Corin’s ass and thrusting them together. “I think . . . I’m gonna . . .”

His knot is swelling up fast and he shoves him against the wall, his knees touching his chest now. He’s moaning, helmet pressed against Corin’s shoulder, hands pulling his ass into faster, deeper thrusts. Din’s knot keeps hitting against the rim of his stretched entrance.

“Kriff. Fuck. Oh, stars, please,” Corin begs, needing that knot inside him.

Din doesn’t answer, just keeps pounding into him, thighs and balls slapping against Corin’s ass.

And then that knot pushes past his entrance, stretching everything so tight it almost hurts, but it doesn’t, it just feels amazing and perfect. Corin yells, a strangled sound, arms wrapping tight around Din’s helmet.

He wonders if this is how a finish really feels, because he’s pulsing and dripping and he can’t really see. He just feels, keeps on feeling, as Din keeps moving, keeps thrusting.

“I can’t . . .” he pants against Corin’s shoulder. “I’m gonna—”

Din comes suddenly and powerfully, paired with a long, continuing moan. His knot is so big it barely moves inside Corin, but every little twitch tips him over another edge until he isn’t sure if he’s coming again, or if he hasn’t stopped coming . . .

He rolls his hips, desperate for more. But Din stops him with a squeeze to his ass.

“Wait,” he whimpers, so much carried in that modulated voice. “Please wait. Not . . . not yet.”

Corin whines wordlessly, but already he feels a new kind of exhaustion seeping over him. Ripples of pleasure still shudder through him, but he really doesn’t feel needy right now because of the knot pressing large and immovable inside of him.

“You okay?” Din asks, slumping against his body. The knot moves a little and he groans softly, pushing it deeper as it twitches bigger and then sticks tight.

“Yeah,” Corin manages, and then giggles a little. “I had no idea . . .”

“You’ve never had an alpha?”

“Never.”

Din grunts, shifting his helmet to a more comfortable angle. “I’ve never had an omega, either.”

Corin gapes. “Wait, am I your firs—”

“No.”

The knot is shrinking again now, enough that Din slips out. Corin wonders if that’s normal, but when Din starts removing his armor, he wonders if maybe this is just the beginning.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“It’s been a while,” Din replies. He lets the beskar fall to the ground with careless clatters. “I really couldn’t control myself the first time; had to take the edge off. Sorry.”

Corin licks his lips and sits up, wincing a little under the slickness he feels beneath his legs. He’s hardening up again and he feels _empty_ without Din’s knot.

He takes off his shirt and slips his trousers all the way off. “What made you change your mind?” 

“Please stop talking,” Din sighs. “You’re in heat, I’m rutting now, let’s just focus on what we really want right now, hmm?”

He’s naked, too, except for the helmet. He strokes himself lightly, looking down as Corin stretches on the mattress and then rises to his knees.

“I want you,” Corin agrees. “And you want me.”

“Have for a while, so thanks for noticing,” Din mutters.

“What? Wait, sorry. Fuck now, talk later.”

“That’s right,” Din says, approaching him again. “I’m thinking sometime tomorrow morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> joonie fire here again, lads :3


End file.
